


Yes, Chef!

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cooking, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:39:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In a world where Omegas learn to win their Alpha with good cooking, especially at high pressure cooking competitions, young Omega Jensen has a chance to win the attention of his hero, celebrity chef Jared.Jared has been looking for his mate for a long time, but he’s never met an Omega as talented as this before. He would happily eat Jensen’s dishes forever.Also includes “Mise en Place” a coda with sexy times.





	Yes, Chef!

In Jensen's first memory, he was in the kitchen. He couldn't been more than three or so, maybe even two, because in his memory, he was allowed to sit on the counter top. He was allowed to help Mommy make an angel food cake. Mommy had dipped the bright metal measuring cup into the sugar container and was helping Jensen draw the edge of the off-set spatula across the top of the cup measure, so that exactly a cup, no more, no less, was measured into the bowl. Later, Jensen would learn how to bake with weight as the measure of ingredients, but for now, this was Grammy Ackles' family recipe and he baked with cups and teaspoons. Inaccurate maybe, but the angel food cake baked up perfect every time, so long as you didn't dare open the oven door too soon and check on it. If you did, it would fall flat.

***

At seven, for his Christmas present, Jensen was given a sort of scaffolding- a long step stool with a guard rail that could be moved around the kitchen, from stove to counter to sink. He could, with supervision, handle a chef's knife, a hot sauté pan or a roaringly hot oven, but he was still too short to reach the counters without a boost. 

There were some things Jensen was still not allowed to do. The mandoline, with its razor sharp blade, even with the finger guard, was still considered too dangerous. Same for the immersion blender that Mommy used to blend up creamy soups on the stove top. Jensen had to call Mommy over to blend up the butternut squash soup that Jensen was making. Then they worked together on adjusting the seasonings. Jensen had wanted to put garlic puree in, not a lot, but some. The recipe Mommy always used was far, far too sweet. It had apples, and not even onions, but the far milder shallot.

"Some thyme, don't you think?" Mommy asked.

Jensen shook his head. He ran over to the spice drawer which was near the stove. He contemplated the neatly labelled glass jars, all in neat rows. He pulled out the curry powder. 

"Needs a kick," Jensen said. "Something spicy." 

"Okay, we'll try it your way this time."

Curry powder was always part of butternut soup in the future.

***

Things weren't always so happy in the kitchen. At eight, it was a family get together, the whole Ackles extended family was there. His older, Alpha brothers and his Beta and Alpha boy cousins were allowed to run around the yard, playing kickball. He yearned to join them. His older sister and his girl cousins were also out in the yard, on the swing set. To be fair, if there were any Omega cousins, they would have probably been in here with him, but Jensen was the only Omega of his generation. His cousins and siblings got to play. Jensen was wrapping individual beef wellingtons in puff pastry. 

The kitchen was hot and bustling with a lot more people than normal- aunts, his uncles' Omega mates, all jockeying for space at the counter, at the stove. Jensen's bench had been moved out for today. He was stuck at the island bar, perching on a stool, trying to get his Wellingtons wrapped. And it was hot enough that the puff pastry dough got all melty and sticky, even though it had been nearly frozen still when he'd taken it out of the fridge. It smooshed easy and stretched out. And then he started crying, because he wanted to be anywhere but in this room with the melty pastry dough that wouldn't stop sticking to his fingers. 

But there was no crying in the kitchen, as his celebrity chef hero always said. So Jensen finished the job, and if the final product was a little blobby, no one seemed to notice. He got lots of praise from his Omega uncles and pats on the back from his Alpha uncles. He was told again and again, that he was definitely finding the way to an Alpha's heart. Through their stomach, of course. Everyone knew, what an Alpha was looking for, primarily, is an Omega that will feed him well. 

***

At nine, Jensen transferred schools. He no longer went to the normal elementary school with his neighborhood friends, where his older brothers had gone. He was enrolled in Le Petite Cordon Bleu, a junior culinary academy for Omegas. Sure, he still had to take reading, math and social studies in the morning. But after lunch, they all changed into their white jackets and black and white checked pants. They headed to their kitchens and learned the arts de cuisine. 

Jensen was in advanced placement. Everyone wanted their Omega to learn to cook, but not every Omega was in the kitchen from his earliest memory like Jensen. Many his age were still learning the basics, like how to dice and julienne, what a mirepoix was and why it was important to keep your sauté pan hot. Jensen was learning to make his own puff pastry, how to spatchcock a fowl and the finer points of plating. He learned about gluten, and why sometimes you wanted to develop it and why you sometimes want to do everything you could to avoid overworking your dough and developing your gluten. 

And in the evening, he went home and he watched Jared Padalecki's show, whichever one was on. He had two. Jensen's favorite was Supernatural Kitchen, which was a cooking competition show that put two teams of cooks up against each other, with almost impossible ingredients required to be used in the recipes. It was sort of like Chopped, but with the added distraction of Chef Padalecki, shouting and sometimes even throwing things. This weeks' surprise ingredients were lamb and quail eggs. Jensen hadn't seen this episode yet. The teams were Omegas versus Alphas. 

On the screen, Chef Padalecki was yelling at some hapless Omega, "This egg drop soup is dry."

The Omega cowered a little, then ducked his head and just said, "Yes, Chef."

"And your lamb is so raw that a skilled vet could still save it."

"Yes, Chef," he said.

"Are you crying? There is no crying in my kitchen! Get out." 

Then the show cut to Chef Padalecki, talking to the camera about the chances of this week's teams. He was not optimistic about either of them. Then he said, "You know, I have to laugh sometimes, when these no-hopers call me an asshole. I've been called a lot worse. But there's no room for screw ups in my kitchen and no room for some Alpha thinking he's going to butt heads with me in my own kitchen."

Then came the commercials and Jensen got involved in flipping through Gourmet- there was a Jules Child retrospective, the famous Omega who'd brought French cooking to the United States and demystified it enough that any Omega could recreate it at home. So when Jensen's attention came back to the set, Chef Padalecki was saying, "The other Team? The Omegas? Without a doubt, an Omega can make the finest of home cooks, but they get to my kitchen and they just crumple. No backbone to them. They're just not up to the pressure of a restaurant. I pretty much only hire Betas at my restaurants."

With that, Jensen's heart broke, just a little, but he swore to himself that one day, he would go on Supernatural Kitchen and he would show Chef Jared just what an Omega could do.

***

At ten, the cooking competitions started. The first was just an intramural match, Jensen and his team against other teams from the school, plus some individual events. He lost the sandwich event to Osric Chau's interpretation of a bahn mi, but won ribbons for his Hasselback potatoes and his spring pea risotto. His team cleaned the other teams' clocks in the group four course competition, even the twelve, thirteen and fourteen year old groups. They'd been bold, taking a risk with some molecular gastronomy techniques. They'd made a meyer lemon and earl grey foam for their sole, rather than a more traditional butter sauce. The sou vide technique had only just barely cooked the sole to done in the time allotted, but it was almost a miracle, falling into perfect flakes, tender enough to melt into the mouth. 

He came home from the competition and couldn't get out of bed for days, he was so exhausted. He had a burn across the back of his left hand that he hadn't noticed hardly noticed until he got home, where he'd seared himself on an oven rack. His Omega mom had smeared ointment on it and bandaged it carefully. Then he could hear him talking out in the hallway with his dad. 

"He's too young for this, Danny," Dad said. "Look at him. He can hardly stand. This is the kind of pressure grown men buckle under. Did you look at his face when that other kid won the medal for the sandwich thing?"

"But he is as good in the kitchen as any grown man you'll find and it's the only chance he's got, Alan," Mom said. "You know we don't have connections or the kind of money to fund a big dowry. This is the only chance he has to catch the attention of a really good Alpha. Even if he doesn't, there's scholarship money. Of, if we could get him on one of those televised competitions, he'd have his pick of mates, for sure. He's good enough."

"I just don't like to see my munchkin hurt."

"Jensen is fine. The burn is minor. He just needs a little rest. We'll keep him home from school tomorrow. Anyway, all Omegas do this to some extent. I did the competitions. It's how you found me, remember?"

Dad chuckled a little. "I had no idea when I walked into that cooking expo that I'd find the love of my life, pushing a plate of veal scaloppini into my face."

"Hooked you good, didn't I?"

There was some quiet murmuring and the soft sounds that Jensen knew were his parents kissing. But then thankfully, they moved down the hallway, the last sound he heard from them their bedroom door shutting.

***

His classmates started disappearing after that year. Nothing unusual. They were out for mates and they found them. Once they and their parents had signed that mating contract, even if they wouldn't be mated right away, there wasn't much point in sending them to an expensive private school any longer. They'd achieved what was considered to be the crowing glory of an Omega's life- finding their Alpha. 

It meant that Jensen's fellow students fell into one of two categories- the truly talentless, who couldn't cook their way out of a paper bag, floundering around, not succeeding in any way in catching a mate. Then there were the others like him. They were sharp, talented. Maybe they weren't even doing the competitions in hopes of a mate, but to hone their skills. They might have even hoped to work in a restaurant as a chef.

 

***

At thirteen or so, Jensen was allowed to stay up a little later. He caught his hero, Chef Jared Padalecki, on one of the late night talk shows. He was at least a whole foot taller than the talk show host. He demonstrated a simple dish quickly, which Jensen took notes on, of course, then settled down on the couch next to the host to talk about his new show- Hot Dish. 

"So, you've opened how many new restaurants since we last spoke?" the host asked. "Three, right? And the new show. And a cookbook on the bestseller lists. But of course, what everyone wants to know about. Your personal life. Is there a special Omega? Any mating contracts in the offing?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Chef Padalecki said. "I've always said I'm going to mate the Omega that can out cook me. I haven't met him yet. I'm still hoping."

"So, now, the Hot Dish, tell us about it. One reviewer said it was a cross between tabloid television and Iron Chef."

"Well, that is a little unfair. I do have celebrity guests, but the cooking and food challenges are legitimate. My guests do their own cooking on the show. It's not done by assistants behind the scenes. And I've been uniformly surprised by just how good most of them are. Cameron Diaz did up a very lovely marinated salad when her surprise ingredient was calamari. Sometimes things don't go so well. We didn't do our research well enough and put Russell Brand in front of a table of organ meats. It turns out he's a vegetarian. That was more than a bit of a disaster."

"And your favorite celebrity guest so far? Or maybe just the biggest surprise you've come across."

"Well, we had Sigourney Weaver on the week we did wild foraged foods. I thought it would stump her for sure, but it turns out in preparation for one of her roles, she took wilderness survival classes. She made quite the meal out of what looked like a pile of weeds and roots, with nothing but a campfire basically. She even trapped a rabbit and had a meat course. She was brilliant. Definitely kicked my ass in the competition. Shouldn't have expected less from her though."

"And Supernatural Kitchen, that's still in production as well?"

"We'll have a new season next year. We'll be having auditions all across the country starting in a few months. It's very exciting. The competitors will be the best of the best of the amateurs and as always, the prize for the season is fifty thousand towards starting their own restaurant."

"Supernatural Kitchen is one of the oldest of the cooking competition shows, but since it came on the air, it's been imitated by dozens of other shows."

"Imitated, but never really duplicated. I think the key to our success is that the competition is not the only pressure. So many of these shows, its not really happening in real time, like it seems. There are off screen production assistants to help the teams. But in my show, what you're seeing is them actually working the kitchen of one of my restaurants. There's no back stage. The kitchen you see is it. No assistants, just the four team members. Which is one more body than I usually have running my restaurant kitchens. The people judging the food are actual restaurant customers who are paying for the food. Not some panel of semi-celebrities. I think people see and appreciate the authenticity."

***

Fifteen was the last year Jensen could stay at his culinary school. Most Omegas had their mating contracts by fourteen. His year's class had shrunk from a hundred to just ten of them. If Jensen didn't have a contract nailed down by the end of the year, and if he wanted to keep going to school, he would have to transfer to just a regular high school. Or he could just be done with school. He was already past the age of compulsory education for Omegas. He could go to work full time. 

He already worked three nights a week at L'Auberge Saigon, a French Vietnamese fusion restaurant, which was kind of stupid, because Vietnamese cuisine was already fused with French to some extent. But he liked having the work. If nothing else, he was learning far more about timing and how to stay cool under pressure than he ever had in school. And he was able to earn his entry fees for the cooking competitions himself. 

His parents were beginning to worry about him though. They'd brought him five different mating contracts so far and though they had allowed him to say no to all of them, Jensen knew they were wanting him married off soon. Jensen couldn't say why he'd said no to all of the contracts. It wasn't like any of the Alphas were intending to make him wear their collars or keep him from family. Or stop him from driving and keep him locked up in the kitchen. It just didn't feel right and it was too soon. But his mean aunt Tilly had called him an old maid at the last family gathering and other comments had been made, though not so directly. 

Jensen was in his Molecular Gastronomy class, which he could have taught. They were experimenting with foams, clouds and other similar things. He was working a recipe for a coconut cloud, which he planned to float over a passionfruit coulis in a kind of deconstructed pavlova. His instructor came up to him once the whipping process was complete.

"Jensen," he said. 

"Yes, Chef?"

They always called their instructors chef, as a respect thing. 

"The school was asked to nominate one student to travel to the Food Network Omega Invitational. Talking with the other instructors, our only choice was clear. So how about it? You want to fly to New York and compete? Unfortunately, the school can't help with travel expenses any, but there's no entrance fee. And I understand if you make the demi finals, you'll have at least some television coverage and the network reimburses for travel expenses. It'll be the toughest competition ever. You'll be going up against the kids like you, who slashed their way through the city and state competitions. But I think you're up for the challenge."

"I'll have to ask my parents," Jensen said, even though he knew already that hell yes he was going to New York. The Food Network Omega Invitational was the cooking competition any Omega aspired to. It was the best of the best. It was televised. The winner got a huge prize. It would be almost as good as winning Supernatural Kitchen. 

"I'm sure you'll do us proud, Jensen."

***

Jensen stared at the pile of food stuffs, not quite able to believe what he'd been presented with and that would have to be incorporated into the next round of the competition. The first couple of rounds, the secret, required ingredients had been easy. The first round of the invitational had honey as the required element. The next round had had rice. The demi final round had been a little hairier. There'd been a camera in his face half the time and he'd had to figure out how to use different kinds of eggs, from huge green emu eggs to itty bitty quail eggs. The semi final had presented them with an aquarium's worth of various shellfish and other sea life, no fish though. Just weird stuff like sea urchins.

The final round was impossible. They'd been presented with a hamper and told, "The theme for this round is holidays. So you've been given a basket of typical American holiday foods, from a variety of holidays. Use as many of them as you can, as imaginatively as you can. All the hampers have the same ingredients, and as usual, you have equal access to the pantry and equipment. In two hours, you'll need to prepare four courses- an amuse bouche, a soup, an main course and a desert. Go."

And in the hamper had been: a can of pumpkin, like people used for pies. Candy canes. Marshmallow Peeps- the bright yellow chicks. Dried ginger and cinnamon spices. A big box of matzoh. Chocolate. Those fried onions in a canister. Powdered gelatin. He decided he was grateful that it was plain gelatin and not artificially flavored Jello. And to top it all off, a couple of cans of jellied cranberry sauce. 

He dug through the hamper, no clue what he was going to do, nearly at the point of panic as he saw that his competitors were already digging into the shelves of the pantry for other ingredients to round out the ones in the hamper. If he didn't get going soon, he'd be stuck with the dregs. They seemed to limit the amount of prime ingredients that would make anything taste good, like cream and butter. 

Okay, the soup course. That was easy. Canned 'pumpkin' was actually almost entirely butternut squash. Real pumpkins, even those little 'sugar' pumpkins didn't have enough flesh to make it worthwhile for the canneries, so they used other squash that had bigger fleshy areas. He'd make a butternut squash soup, maybe with carrots and red peppers for a brighter flavor. He'd make his own garam masala, starting out with the ginger and cinnamon from the basket. Maybe a crumble for the top with the fried onions and matzoh. 

The desert course, super easy. He saw the matzoh and knew that he had to make something his Mom made every year called "Christmas Crack." Basically a cheater toffee with matzoh, caramelized sugar and chocolate. He couldn't stop there, of course. He was thinking a terrine of candy cane ice cream with layers of pulverized Christmas Crack. Served with a coulis of some kind, plus topped with a chocolate foam. He could instantly freeze the ice cream in nitrogen. 

He headed for the equipment pantry first, so he could get dibs on the tools he'd need. The only equipment of their own that they'd been allowed to bring was their knife set. He grabbed a cart. First, he found the only canister of liquid nitrogen that was available, just moments before another Omega reached for it. Then he had to make sure to get a couple of the whipping canisters, plus an extra nitro cartridge, just in case. He grabbed a garnishing set, and just because it was right in front of him, a set of mini cookie cutters, not sure what he would do with them. 

By the time he got to the food pantry, it was kind of depleted. There was a lot of goat cheese left for some reason. He decided on his amuse bouche when he saw it- goat cheese panna cotta, making use of his gelatin. He could garnish it with a thin slice of the cranberry jelly, cut with the little cutters. There was no butter left, but he found walnut oil and coconut oil. Cream, thankfully, was available, but not as much as he would like. He'd have to keep it for the chocolate foam and ice cream, and use something else for his soup. He grabbed just about anything left in the dairy case, hoping to find a use for it. By the time he got to the meat and fish cooler, all that was left was a kind of sad looking piece of salmon, just barely big enough for his purposes. He grabbed everything else he could and got back to his kitchen. The clock was ticking and he didn't have much time to make four courses. 

 

***

 

Jared hated these kind of things. Sitting at a desk under the hot lights for hours, trying bite after bite of food from dozens of indifferent plates. Yes, the food was uniformly good. It had to be at this level of competition. The competitors were Omegas who'd had years of cooking competitions at varying levels under their belt. Most had gone to culinary school since they were young. Almost everything was glaringly, boringly competent.

But very little of it was special. Nothing stood out. Much of it was bland, as if the cook was afraid to over spice. Or alternatively, all he could taste was the salt. There was one very unfortunate dish where the boy had tried to make a 'turkey steak au poivre" that just burned his sinuses with the pepper. 

Next to him Ina and Giada, the other celebrity judges, politely took little bites of the various dishes in front of them, made notes on the forms. They were very serious and if the cameras were put their way, they made polite little comments on the subtle way the dish used the ingredients.

But the camera was put into Jared's face just the instant he took another bite of the unfortunate turkey au poivre and discovered that the competitor had added both the ginger and cinnamon to the crushed black peppercorns. He forced himself to swallow it down, because Jared didn't let any food get the better of him, especially not on national TV, but he coughed and had to grab for a glass of water. 

"It's wretched. I'm not sure what to do with myself," he said. "This is normally the point where I start throwing things and shouting."

Ina knew him. She didn't like him, but she knew him. She smiled condescendingly at him, but didn't say anything. She didn't think much of his Alpha fueled, over the top style. She hadn't come from the kind of balls to the wall, high pressure restaurant background that he had. She did her cooking show from a lovely Martha's Vineyard shingled home. She'd started in catering and with one of those little shops that sold 'provisions.' She didn't do and didn't understand macho. 

Giada didn't know him. She said, "That's frightening. Anyway, the dish is very unique."

"It does only make use of two of the ingredients in the basket," Ina pointed out. 

"It's rubbish," Anthony pointed out. Jared might have hated Anthony, but at least they saw eye to eye on a lot of things. The restaurant business was an Alpha world and they both made no bones about that. Anthony might have thrown a pot or two in his day too. "Garbage. Worst dish I've tasted in this competition."

They all finished tasting the other dishes and marking their forms. Then the production assistants scuttled onto the stage and bore away the remnants of the dishes. 

"So, find your Omega yet?" Anthony asked. "You're getting a little long in the tooth to be waiting for the perfect one."

"And I want to take mating advice from you why?"

Anthony was infamous. He'd made and broken four mating contracts in the last ten years. He was still alone and as he might have pointed out, a good bit longer in the tooth than Jared. The last one was with a ten year old boy from Thailand. 

Finally, the production assistants brought the last cart with another hopeful Omega's dishes, the last of the six competitors left at this stage of the contest. The plating, at least, was flawless. It appealed to the eye immediately, with precision, contrast and color. The first dish, the amuse bouche, was a little white bombe, flecked with a fine mince of green chives. The Omega had taken the jellied cranberry sauce, sliced it thin then made a small cut out in a flower shape to decorate it. Nothing further was needed to decorate. Anything else would have been overdone. 

"What's this?" Jared asked, reaching for the card. Goat cheese panna cotta with a garnish of chives and cranberry jelly. He was doubtful, but took a spoon to it. The instant it hit his mouth, he knew he'd found something magnificent. Goat cheese could be kind of chalky and astringent, but this was smooth, silky, yet keeping the tartness of the goat cheese. The cranberry jelly was just the right amount of sweet and tart. An amuse bouche was never more than a bite or two. Some people portioned them too large, making them into outright appetizers. But this, this was just the right amount to flirt with the taste buds. Jared scraped the plate clean, then reached for Anthony's portion and nearly got a fork in the hand for his trouble. Luckily, Ina was nowhere near as fast and he snaked her portion over to his side of the table, thanking God for his long reach. She'd taken one small, polite bite and was still mulling it over when she realized what he'd done. He had the last couple bites swallowed down before she could protest.

"It is delicious, isn't it?" she asked, a fake smile plastered on her face. She was seething underneath, but Jared didn't care.

"It truly stands out," Giada added. 

"I'm not convinced," Anthony said. "It's a tease, a slutty little come on with no substance."

Next came the soup. "Pumpkin bisque with a garnish of cinnamon chocolate mole and walnut cranberry ice cream," Jared said, reading from the card. 

"I normally hate this molecular gastronomy shite," Anthony said, but he dipped a spoon into his small bowl and he was quiet for a long time after that. 

Just like the amuse bouche, the soup was outstanding. At first, he thought maybe it wanted some crunchy garnish, but then his spoon hit the swirl of ice cream. It wasn't, as he thought it would be, a sweet touch to the soup, but a savory one. There were small nuggets of perfectly toasted walnuts with slight hits of smoked salt, made bright by the tinier chunks of sweet tart cranberry jelly. The light texture made Jared think it had been frozen by liquid nitrogen, not an ice cream maker. The soup itself had none of the heaviness you normally expected with pumpkin. It had been lightened somehow. It was just gorgeous, the contrast between the hot soup and the frozen cream.

"My, my, my," Ina said. 

Giada had greedily emptied her small bowl already and scribbling furiously on her form. She never had more than a bite or two of the food put in front of her.

Jared started to think that this Omega might be the one. The one who could cook circles around him. The one who he wanted to mate. The one whose food he wanted to eat when he came home from a long evening in front of a hot stove and bright camera lights. 

He knew for sure when they were presented with the entrees. 

It was a deconstructed, or reconstructed, or whatever you wanted to call it, version of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Sort of. But it was anything but traditional. There was a tournedos of salmon, with a ginger miso cranberry glaze, a timbale of, well, green bean casserole, with a persillade of fried onions, shallots and matzoh, garnished with a spherification of cranberry jelly, and a sweet potato foam, stabilized with gelatin, with a twist of brulee'd Peep. 

Jared ate in stunned silence, letting the melange of flavors wash over his tongue. The cranberry spheres popped between his teeth, bringing a flash of sharp sweet to the smooth unctuousness of the timbales' eggy custard. The salmon was perfectly cooked, grilled crosswise, the glaze a flood of umami and spice. The sweet potato foam was a cloud of perfection, lightly spiced with cinnamon, just enough to warm the flavor. 

Somehow, the food spoke to him of home and comfort, of holidays past and futures hoped for. It was like the Omega was speaking directly to him, somehow, about tradition and love. It wasn't a meal, it was a dialog.

He didn't even bother waiting around for the final course- the dessert. He stood up and said, "Where are this boy's parents? I want to offer a mating contract."

"Are you even serious? You haven't even seen the boy," Anthony said. "He's in the senior division in competitions according to his bio. He's probably a total troll. You don't get to senior division unmated without something very wrong with your looks."

"Perhaps you're being a bit impulsive, Jared," Ina said. 

"No, not impulsive. I've been waiting for this moment for years. And yes, I'm serious. I don't care what he looks like. Anyone who can cook like this is an angel as far as I'm concerned."

They had to stop filming for a while, for the director to talk Jared into finishing up the judging and not head off looking for his soon to be mate right away. Between takes, he grabbed a quick call to his attorney, to draft up an mating contract and have it ready before the end of the shooting day. Then he addressed himself properly to the dessert his future mate had prepared. 

It was a chocolate trio- three small deserts, one hot, one frozen, one room temperature. There was a small demitasse of hot chocolate flavored with cinnamon, ginger and pulverized smoked ancho peppers, topped with another twist of brulee'd Peep. There was a mini walnut, chocolate and cranberry tart. Finally, a candy cane cheesecake semifreddo with a crumb crust made from what was described as "Christmas Crack" dust and a ganache sauce. Normally, he hated the fancy plated multi sweet desserts. They were fussy and never as good as a whole as each component was. But this was different.

He groaned out loud as he ate, something he never did, but it was just that good. 

"Do you need to be alone with your dessert, Jared?" Anthony asked. 

"I think it's sweet." Giada added. "Falling in love because of a meal. That's what cooking is all about really, isn't. Love made physical. The necessary raised to something sublime."

"This isn't love, darling," Anthony said. "It's pure lust and because Jared is the freak he is, he's getting a boner over chocolate and spice instead of supple limbs and pretty faces like he's supposed to."

"Perhaps we could focus on the contest," Ina said. She tapped the edge of her plate with the tine of her fork. "I have to admit, this is clearly superior to anything else put in front of us. I'm not sure I believe it was all prepared in such a short time by a teenager. A professional would be hard pressed to assemble a meal like this."

"He's from Texas," Giada said. "The Omega cooking competitions down there are brutal. They start them young. It can be like a pressure cooker at times. They're worse than beauty pageants."

"So our winner seems pretty obvious," Ina said.

"I don't know," Anthony said. "I was more impressed with the rissoles with chili cranberry-tamarind sauce. Competitor number three. They reminded me of street food in Indonesia. They had a very fresh, very authentic taste."

"Mine was burned and had had the burned parts scraped off, mostly. Parts of his meal were excellent, but overall it was a very uneven presentation. The plating was weak. Messy," Jared said, going over his notes. 

"You don't get a vote anymore, Padalecki."

"No, he has a point. Yes, there were individual dishes here and there by other competitors that far exceeded each individual dish in competitor six's meal," Ina said. "But as the whole package, number six is it for me. Presentation, creativity, technique, use of the required elements, even keeping to the theme- its all there."

"I agree," Giada said. "I think the winner is obvious."

 

They had another break in filming, at least their segments. It looked like they were getting footage of interviews with the competitors. Jared made his way back to his dressing room to wait. By this point, Jared's attorney, Jeff Morgan, had made it to the soundstage where they were shooting the competition. He presented Jared with a standard contract and pre-nup. 

He started explaining the contingencies, how Jared could back out and the consequences and then if the Omega or his family backed out. Once the mating would happen, if it broke up, regardless of the reason, the Omega wouldn't get much for the first couple of years, a hundred thousand per year of mating, plus child support for any pups born in the mating. Once they hit the five year mark together, the amount grew to a million, then, by the time they hit ten years, it was a equal division of property.

"So, he must be great beauty, to get you to agree to be tied down like this," Jeff said. 

"I don't really know. But he cooks like a demon. Like he made a deal with the devil."

"I should have known you'd be brought down low by your stomach eventually."

Jeff laughed at him, but pushed more and more papers at Jared until they were all signed. "I'll go find his father and present your offer."

Eventually, Jeff returned, a couple of middle class, middle aged people in his wake, obviously the parents of competitor number six. The Alpha of the pair was clutching a bundle of papers, the mating contract.

"You're the Alpha that wants to mate my youngest son," the Alpha said. It wasn't a question, though it was implied that there was a chance Jared wouldn't measure up to what the man called an Alpha at all.

"Are the terms not acceptable?"

"I'm an attorney and I know boiler plate when I see it. My son is not a boiler plate Omega."

Jeff answered for him, thankfully. "Mr. Ackles, then you know this isn't a final offer. It's the first volley in a negotiation. Every mating contract ends up being unique as the individual's mating. Now, shall we determine what particular clauses are not acceptable, as is?"

"There needs to be a courtship period. We are not leaving our youngest son half way across the country in the custody of a man so much older and more powerful than him, who he's never spent so much as a minute alone with."

Jeff said, "I think that would be a wise idea, Jared, for the both of you. From what I understand you haven't even seen this Omega, much less met him. It would give you time to cool down"

"I know enough," Jared said. "I know I would eat this cooking every day for the rest of my life and I would be happy because of it. Jeff, whatever concessions they want, I'm pretty sure I'm on board with."

There was a knock on the door frame and then the production assistant just slid into the open door. 

"Mr. Padalecki, you're needed back on set."

Jared didn't bother looking in the mirror. There was someone who would see that his hair was just so before he stepped onto the sound stage. "Jeff, you''ll get this nailed down for me, right?"

As they headed to the sound stage, the P.A. filled him in on what they would be shooting. The votes from the four judges had been tabulated and they'd be awarding first, second and third prizes. The first prize winner was number six, of course. Jared's heart did a little flip flop in his chest, a sign of nerves he hadn't had for years. He was going to lay his eyes on his intended for the first time. Back in the other room, hopefully Jeff would be hammering out the details and getting things worked out. 

First there was the prepping and someone fixing his makeup and hair, then the director explaining what was expected from the next segment. Jared hardly listened to a minute of it. Then the third and second prizes were awarded and Jared said some things on camera and other people said things, but whatever they were, they slipped out of his memory right away. 

Finally, his intended was brought out, squinting a little because of the bright lights. And he was beautiful, just like Jared knew he would be. You didn't cook like he had without being beautiful, just like Rembrandt's paintings were always beautiful. It was something that came from the soul, something beyond mere prettiness. 

But the boy, Jensen was his name apparently, was pretty too. His eyes stood out first, big, deep and sparkling. He was a slender waif of a boy, almost overwhelmed by his white chef's jacket, a few tendrils of light brown, almost blond hair escaping from his black skull cap. His lips were lush and pink. He blinked in the direction of the judges and smiled slightly, just a little shy. 

Not surprising he was a little reticent and shy. The competitors weren't told who their celebrity judges were until this point. Jared found himself liking it a little, that shyness. He wouldn't have said he'd wanted a submissive Omega, but one with a mild manner like this was appealing. Not that Jared would ever have wanted to go back to the days when Omegas were owned and sequestered only in the household, but he did like an Omega who behaved like an Omega. He wondered if Jensen had been told about the mating contract offer yet. 

 

***

Jensen could hardly believe it. He knew that the Food Network got some of its most famous, highest caliber celebrity chef's to judge the last round of competition. But he'd never expected to see Chef Padalecki there. My God, he was huge too. You saw how tall he was on the television, but it was different, seeing it in person. Jared towered over the petite Giada and the round, comfortable Ina. He was even, slightly, taller than Chef Anthony. 

Jensen knew he must have won some kind of prize. They only paraded the prize winners in front of the celebrity panel. When they started talking at him about food, how the flavors in his dishes stood out, how his techniques were outstanding, he suddenly realized, he hadn't won just a prize, but the prize. He'd won. The days in a row, because he'd been cooking in this competition for nearly a week now at various levels, of hot lights and not enough rest, of being too nervous to eat or sleep, caught up with him suddenly. He started to feel lightheaded. Then the tunnel vision came. He could feel his knees grow week, then there was nothing, just dark. 

When Jensen came to, he was lying on the floor of the set. His head was on a pair of legs and when he looked up, it was right into Chef Padalecki's face. He was lying with his head on Jared Padalecki's lap. He almost fainted again right then. He was mortified. He'd collapsed because of just the slightest amount of pressure, right in front of the man he idolized most. And now he was lying, head in his lap.

"Hey, you'll be okay. The set medics are on their way," Jared said. Jensen's head wrap had fallen off and Jared pushed the hair out of Jensen's eyes with a surprisingly gentle touch. Jensen was suddenly very okay with having fainted, because it had gotten him into the lap of this amazing Alpha. He was so huge and smelled so good. Jensen never wanted to leave this lap. 

Too soon though, men in uniforms, with kits and a stretcher pushed their way through the crowd and took over. Jared surrendered Jensen over to their care. They took Jensen's vitals and stopped him from getting up even though he protested that he was feeling just fine now. 

"It's probably just vasovagal syncope," the paramedic told him. "But just to be safe, we're going to take you to the hospital, run a few tests, okay?" 

***

A few hours later, finally, he was surrendered back to his parents' care. They'd run a few tests on him, like a ECG, put a bag of IV fluids in him and told him he'd just been exhausted and dehydrated and to take it easy. It had definitely been brought on by a combination of standing all day, being dehydrated and emotional stress. 

"You did it, Munchkin," his Dad told him as they were taking a cab back to their hotel room. 

Jensen leaned against his Dad's chest and sighed. Even though he'd supposedly won the contest, he'd also fainted on a national TV show and the footage was captured for all to see. Never mind that it had happened in front of a huge studio audience. He'd humiliated himself. He'd acted just like the stereotypical Omega who couldn't handle the pressure. It was worse than if he'd broken down in tears in the middle of the show. 

"Is it too late to get out of the show and not be on TV?" Jensen asked. 

His mom, on his other side, said, "Oh, Sweetie. You couldn't help fainting. Anyway, the producers said they expect a few Omegas to pass out every year. It's not like you passed when you were actually cooking. You did so good. They loved you. People were talking about offering you a show. And of course, there's the cookbook deal you got for your prize. And something even better."

It was only then that Jensen realized they had gone past the hotel they were staying at and past the studio. 

"We've got an offer for a mating contract," his dad said. "It's a very good one. Very generous. You would be well cared for your whole life. I got the Alpha to agree to an unlimited courtship, so you wouldn't need to leave home right away, not until you're ready. I know people let their Omegas go to be mated as young as ten, but I just couldn't see you leaving home yet, Munchkin."

"We're going there now, for you to read it and see. To meet your Alpha."

Jensen could have just about cried. That wasn't what he'd wanted. Now that he'd been near Jared Padalecki, taken in his scent, rested his head in Jared'd lap, he knew that he didn't want any other Alpha, ever. It was stupid to think that it was Jared offering a contract. An Alpha like that could have any Omega he wanted. He wouldn't want some old maid Omega who was too weak to not faint when the rubber hit the road, who collapsed under pressure. 

He'd probably gotten a contract from some fat, ugly cooking show producer. 

"Do we have to do this now?" he said, knowing he sounded peevish. "I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep."

"No, of course not," his dad said. "But it's a very good contract. It's very generous for your financial future and there's a unlimited courtship period before you would have to make a final mating decision."

"And you do want to eat, right?" his mom asked. "We're at the restaurant already. You don't even have to look at the contract tonight. Just have dinner and talk with the man a little. I think you'll be surprised and pleased."

They were pulling up to one of Jared Padalecki's restaurants, the called the Chop Shop. Well, whoever this Alpha was, he was rich. You didn't get last minute reservations to the Chop Shop. You mostly didn't get reservations period, unless you knew someone. It was a modern American style steak house, but with a craft beer focus. Jensen was too young to drink, but he'd heard that the best of the best of the American microbrews made up the beer list and that they didn't even serve wine. This also might be his only chance to eat at one of Chef Padalecki's restaurants, ever. 

Because he wasn't going to take this mating contract or anyone else's ever. He knew who his mate should be now and it was a man who was utterly unobtainable. So he was going to be an old maid, which meant going back to Texas and never leaving his parent's house, until they died and he had to go live with an Alpha brother. 

"Okay," he said. "I'll meet this guy, but I'm not making any promises."

"No one's asking you to do anything but keep an open mind, Munchkin," his dad said. 

They walked in, past the fancy awning and mirrored glass doors into a cool, dimly lit space. There were bottle green walls, jazz playing softly on a good stereo system and leather sofas all around. It looked like some particularly hip bachelor pad. Dad was about to step up to the walnut wood desk where a very thin woman in very high heels was obviously the hostess, but then suddenly, Chef Padalecki himself entered from the dining room and rushed to great them. He seemed terribly eager and happy to see them. If he'd been a dog, it would have been one of those golden retrievers puppies that jumps all over people, tail wagging all the time. 

"Alan! Danny!" he said. "I'm so glad you could make it after all. And Jensen is doing fine after his little adventure?"

"Jensen is fine. After this, we'll want to get him to bed, but he's got a clean bill of health," Dad said. 

"C'mon in," Jared said. "C'mon. I've got our best table waiting. Jeff is here already."

The dining room was like the bar and entry area, with leather upholstered banquettes and walnut wood panelling every place that wasn't painted dark green. The music turned out to be a jazz trio of piano, standing bass and soft drums. Jared ushered them to a round booth near a lit fire place. A dark haired man in a casual suit sat the booth already, a pint of beer in front of him. Was that the man who'd offered the contract? 

The wait staff was fantastic, because someone came over right away, bearing a bottle of what looked like champagne. Jared himself put a flute in front of Jensen. Dad made disapproving sounds and Mom said, "He's only fifteen." 

Jared said, "Just one glass. I figure this is a particularly important occasion."

Why was Jared here and why was he celebrating Jensen getting mated to this old guy in the suit?"

The old guy in the suit said, "Has Jensen had a chance to read the final contract yet?"

"No, I haven't even seen it yet," Jensen said, not touching his champagne. 

"Jensen spent the larger part of the evening in the emergency room," Dad said. "We won't be signing tonight, I don't think. You understand. Maybe the morning might be better."

"Agreed, no need to rush into this," the man in the suit said. He held his hand out to Jensen and said, "I'm Jeff Morgan, Jared's attorney. I helped him and your father draft the mating contract he's offering you."

"Wait? Jared wants me?" 

"Yeah, I do."

For a moment, Jensen thought he was going to faint again, but he remembered what the doctors at the hospital said, that if he felt faint at all, he needed to get his head down. He didn't see how he could lie down gracefully, shoved into the booth like this, bracketed by his mom on one side, his dad on the other. He laid his head down on the table for a moment, on top of his crossed arms, and he didn't faint. 

"I knew this wasn't a good idea," his dad said. "Let's get him back to the hotel. We can talk in the morning."

"I'm fine," Jensen said, not putting his head up yet, but turning his face to look at Dad and beyond him, to Jared, who was looking worried, mouth pressed together, no longer so much the golden retriever puppy. "I just don't believe it. Why? You never even met me before."

"Your food. I always said I'd mate the Omega who could cook rings around me and I found him."

"And that's me?"

Jensen felt stupid for repeating, but he couldn't quite wrap his brain around it. Jared. Wanted him. Jared who smelled like deep contentment and home and mate. Jared, who he'd had an impossible crush on for about as long as he could remember. Jared wanted him and wanted him so much that he'd offered a mating contract that had been called generous and that had an almost unheard of unlimited courtship period. Most of the ones that Jensen knew about were a year or less. 

"It's you," Jared said. "Look. You don't have to decide anything tonight. I'm just going to go into my kitchen and I'm going to cook for you. What's your favorite cut? Or do you not like steak? I can do salmon, or lamb, or even a pork chop. We do a fantastic pork chop here."

"Steak is fine," Jensen said. "Ribeye?"

"Good. That's my favorite cut too," Jared said and their eyes met. Jared had the most amazing eyes. They seemed to be many colors all at once, green and gray with warm brown near the pupil. "I'll be back soon."

Mom and Dad seemed to slip into conversation easily with Jeff, about the contract, about legal stuff that slipped right over Jensen's head. So he acted like he had to go to the bathroom and slid out of the booth, and found his way to the kitchen. It was easy enough to find, and no one stopped him as he walked right through the swinging doors into the well light, white and stainless steel space. 

Jensen wasn't sure just what he was expecting to see, maybe Jared shouting at the line cooks and making everyone's life hell, just like he did on his tv shows. Instead, what he saw was Jared Padalecki in total concentration, working fast and efficiently. His line cooks and the other kitchen helpers moved smoothly around him, plating, grilling, sauteing. They worked as a team that Jared happened to be the captain of. He wasn't throwing any pans or berating people. When needed, he seemed to speak softy to his crew. A waitress came in bearing a plate, apparently a customer not happy with the meal. Jared took the plate in stride, spoke a few, calm words to the waitress and then set about making a new plate for the customer himself. 

Somehow relieved, Jensen slipped back out of the kitchen before anyone noticed him and made his way back to the booth. He was relieved. Because, sure, the cooking shows, especially Jared's, romanticized the idea of the high strung chef screaming at his staff until they got it right, but his experience at L'Auberge Saigon and at school told him that the best kitchens were run with respect. 

"Mom," he said, just loud enough to attract his attention. "I think I want to get to know Chef Padalecki better."

 

***

 

Mise En Place (Set in Place)-

 

Jensen liked mornings in this kitchen best, before most of the employees came in, just him and the sous chef, going over the menu and the specials, based off what he could find at the market. The kitchen was quiet, echo-ey with sounds bouncing off the white tile and stainless steel surfaces, all gleaming and clean. 

It was his restaurant. Sort of. 

Jared had opened it in Dallas to give himself a good reason to be there all the time. Yeah, he'd had to travel now and then to keep tabs on his places in New York, Los Angeles and Las Vegas, but mostly, he'd planted himself here in Dallas, to be with Jensen during their courting period. He'd called the restaurant J2 and though Jensen wasn't the executive chef, Jared had given him, as a courting gift, forty-nine percent of it, and made Jensen the 'consulting chef and creative director'. 

With Jared's help, he'd developed the menu, the recipes and the overall feel of the place. It was sort of a fusion of molecular gastronomy and American bistro style. More substantial and simple than molecular gastronomy usually was, sort of an easy introduction to it for the type of diners more used to the steak house grill than the sou vide. They had a regular house menu, familiar and well developed, but Jensen came in each day for a few hours to work on market specials as well as semi regular seasonal changes. 

The one thing Jensen didn't do and what Jared hadn't allowed him to do was work the line. To be fair, Jared himself didn't work the line in his restaurants very often. You developed your recipes to the point where they could be reproduced exactly every time. You got yourself good help. If necessary, like with Jared's further flung endeavors that he couldn't get to on the regular, you paid the cost for a great executive chef. But the down and dirty work of getting food on the diners' plates every night was the job of the line cooks. Jensen understood that. Didn't mean he didn't miss it. He'd quit L'Auberge Saigon supposedly to have time to work on his cookbook and J2. But he missed the adrenaline of getting plate after plate banged out, the exquisite chaos that was a restaurant kitchen at full speed on a busy night. While Jared hadn't out and out told him it wasn't seemly that he be seen working the line or that an Omega couldn't handle it, it certainly had been implied. 

But truth be told, he was living his dream. He had work he loved. He had a gorgeous Alpha courting him, with a generous mating contract, marriage and pups his for the asking. All he had to do was pull the trigger. It'd been over a year since he'd first met Jared at the Food Network Omega Invitational. He was seventeen now, just barely and everyone, even his parents, were hinting that it might be time. Jensen was just enjoying his life as it was, not ready to complicate things yet with children, with mateship. He just loved this life had had now.

The sunrise had been gorgeous on his way from the market. He'd come back with a load of amazing, just harvested vegetables. He'd been slowly building contacts with the local organic farmers. Pretty soon, he was going to pitch a second Dallas location to Jared, a farm to table restaurant, with all local, organic produce and heritage breed, pasture raised meats. But for now, he was contemplating a crate of rhubarb and wondering where Lupe, one of his best cooks, had gotten to. He hadn't come in or called in.

He was busy chopping the rhubarb when Jared came into the kitchen at the head of a group of what looked to be health inspectors. At least they were taking notes as he talked and looking all around them. 

Jared said, "As you can see, we exceed even the highest standards of the Texas state board of health."

"What's going on, Jared?" Jensen asked. 

"These are doctors from the St. Mary Hospital's center for diagnostic medicine. I guess Lupe ended up there last night and they're trying to figure out why?"

"They think he's got something food borne?" Jensen asked, worried. It wouldn't be something from here. It couldn't be. Their sanitation was flawless. But something could have been carried in from the raw ingredients. They couldn't control that. Or worse, if he'd brought it in from elsewhere and spread it around before getting symptomatic. The vast majority of food borne illnesses just meant a couple of really uncomfortable days, to even weeks. But people could die from them too- the really bad strains of E. Coli, listeria, botulism. 

"Do you serve rabbit at this location?" one the doctors asked Jared. 

"No, we don't serve rabbit here. It's disgusting," Jensen said. One of Jared's restaurants in New York was an English style gastropub and they'd made a big deal about rabbit on the menu, in particular, a traditional jugged hare made with free range hares. It was disgusting, so gamey. The place and the dish had gotten a large spread in the homes and living section of the New York Times though. 

"This is Jensen Ackels," Jared said. "My partner in crime. Creative director of J2. He decides on the menu and he's right, we never have rabbit or hare in this kitchen."

One of the younger doctors said to the older one, "Well, wherever he got it, it wasn't from here. This place is practically clean enough to do surgery in."

They asked a few more questions, mostly about the suppliers the restaurant used, which were the best Jared and Jensen had been able to find. You couldn't create world class cuisine without top notch ingredients. Then they were thanked for their time and the small crew of doctors left. 

"Do they think Lupe has tuleremia?" Jensen asked. It was the only thing he could think of that you could get from rabbit that you wouldn't be more likely to get from something else. 

"They wouldn't say," Jared said. "Doctor patient confidentiality. I'm sure it's must be nasty, whatever it is. They wouldn't send a team out from the hospital like that if it weren't. I'm not sure what we're going to do without Lupe for tonight though. Madge is out still."

Madge was talented and could bang out a plate with the best of them, but she had these almost inspiring moments of clumsy at times. She'd somehow managed to give herself a hot oil burn on her chest the size of a dinner plate. She'd be out for a few days still. That left them down by two of their usual three line cooks they'd have for a Friday night. 

"Well, I can hit the line," Jared said. "But that still leaves us down by one. On a Friday night."

"No, it doesn't," Jensen said. "I can work the line too."

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Jared asked. He spoke softly, as if it would hide the basic fact that he was telling Jensen he wasn't good enough.

"Why wouldn't I be ready?" Jensen asked. "These are my recipes. Is this my kitchen or isn't it? Is it because I'm Omega? Think I can't handle the pressure?"

"No, of course not, but it's a big difference, working the prep end of things and working peak hours."

"I know. This isn't the only kitchen I've worked."

"It's just that you shouldn't need to."

"But we do need me."

"It's just that."

"That what?"

"That I don't want you to have to work at all, but I don't have a good reason other than my inner Alpha is grumbling."

"Well, then, it's settled. We'd better get on it. Good mise en place makes all the difference."

Jared grinned, bringing out his dimples. God, he was gorgeous. His shoulders always rippled in that perfect way in his chef's whites and he just stood so commandingly tall and confident. It made Jensen want to rip the jacket off and just run his hands all over Jared's torso. Jensen blushed a little at the thought. They hadn't, not even after over a year of courting, gone all the way. 

"Yes, Chef!" Jared said, pulling out the solid black bandana he favored for pulling back his stupidly long hair when he was doing serious kitchen work. "So, what were we going to do with all that rhubarb?"

"I was thinking braised chicken with a rhubarb butter sauce," Jensen said. "With the asparagus. What grows together goes together."

The rhubarb butter sauce would be rich, but piquant. He could swirl in some honey to even out the sharpness. The rhubarb would cut through the richness like lemon juice or vinegar. You could use it in almost any way you could use citrus.

"Okay, sounds good," Jared said. He reached for his knife, the ten inch blade of his chef's knife seemed almost tiny in his huge hands and he wielded it like it was an extension of his body. Before long, he'd gathered the pink red stalks and the blade was flashing, almost not visible with how skilled and fast Jared moved it. 

Jensen, for his part, with smaller hands, found an eight inch easier to balance and handle. Not because he was Omega and weak or something, just that the balance was better for his size hands. Leaving Jared to the rhubarb, he started gathering other ingredients to prep. Onions, of course. Shallots for some of the dishes. He and Jared diced up a big batch of mirepoix, just because it was the foundation of so many things. He decided they were running low on stock, so he'd better run up a batch. Again, it was the foundation of so many things. He roasted the beef bones along with big chunks of carrots, onions and celery to get a good carmelization. Then set them to simmer with red wine and water. Then he fussed over the rhubarb butter sauce, tweaking until it was perfect- tart but rich, smooth and silky with butter. Jared for his part prepped the things for their regular menu items, like the scallops with kumquat-blood orange-beet foam and the pork chops with pumpkin seed paprika taffy. 

Suddenly, the hours had passed. Juan and Tito had arrived in their whites, ready to work. Tito was their other line cook. Juan plated anything that was served cold, anything from salads to certain amuse bouche. They'd had their meeting with the waitstaff, to explain the menu specials. Had their consultation with Mitzi, their sommelier. Then it was time to start table service. They were slammed from the very start. Diners in Dallas had decided to get off to an early start that Friday and according to their hostess, people had actually started lining up at four, for their opening at five, hoping to get one of the few tables that weren't reserved. 

A half hour in, Jensen thought he might be getting dangerously close to being in the weeds, but before long, he got into a rhythm of work. It'd been too long since he'd done this kind of production cooking, since he'd quit L'Auberge Saigon last year.

Beside him, Jared was sautéing the mixed julienned vegetables, a mix that was mostly fennel, as a nest for the Wagyu beef that Jensen was grilling now. He checked the clock, then checked the fillets themselves, pressing a clean finger onto them, hoping to catch them at the perfect doneness. They should feel just softer than the flesh between finger and thumb when they should be flipped. Except for one of the four diners that had ordered it had asked for well done. Jensen shuddered at the thought of what he was doing to this fine cut of beef, but he knew from experience that it would be just sent back if he sent it out with any pink left. He flipped the three, let them sear. Then he lifted and gave them them an exact quarter turn, for the perfect quadrillage. Only then did he turn the one that was to be well done. Finally, he assembled them- nest of julienned vegetables, compound butter with mix of herbs, with a pile of fresh, hot glass potato chips, which used potatoes, turned to potato starch, made into into a gel, which was first dehydrated, then deep fried, and seasoned with a sea salt. They tasted just like a good potato chip, but were see through. The dish was the restaurants only nod to the meat and potatoes cooking that many Texans expected. Once those orders were done, he turned to the next set. 

Three hours in, Jared asked, "You want to take a break? I think the big rush is over and we could get it with three from here."

It wasn't that Jensen wasn't actually dying to get off his feet. His day had started much earlier than Jared's, with an early morning trip to the market. But he also had a Texas sized streak of stubborn. 

"Nah, I'm good," Jensen said and reached for a clean sauté pan. 

"Seriously, your day started five hours before mine," Jared said. "Since you insist on getting up at the asscrack of dawn to look for the freshest pea pods."

"Yeah, well, it's already hot enough here that the pea pods are doubtful. I wouldn't serve them unless I can pick them out myself."

"You're just seventeen. There's no need for you to work this hard."

"And what were you doing at seventeen?" Jensen asked. He knew, of course. They'd talked about it and even if they hadn't, Jared had written about it in his memoir. Jared had gone to France as an exchange student and ended up ditching school for an unpaid, brutal internship in a classic French kitchen, in three star Michelin restaurant. Sixteen hour days that started with scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom had been his life for a while. All the same, it had been a once in a lifetime opportunity to work at a place most chefs only dreamed about.

"That's different."

"Different how?"

Jared grinned wryly. They'd had a few discussions about how Jensen wasn't going to stand for being treated like a fragile flower, just because he was young and an Omega. "Well, for one thing, there's just no comparison with where you are and I was at seventeen. I was barely good enough for pot scrubbing back then. Hell, you cook circles around me now."

"And you love it," Jensen said. "Now get back to work, Padalecki. Table twelve is still waiting for their pork chops."

"Yes, Chef!"

At last their night wound down, their last table seated at nine-thirty and the last of their orders up by ten fifteen. Jensen washed his personal knives but left the rest of the clean up to the others. That was one of the advantages of being an owner. Someone else could scrub the counters and scour the pans. Jensen threw his white jacket into the laundry bin and went out to the parking lot to wait for Jared. He stood there in his wife beater and checked pants, letting himself air out a little. He was damp with sweat, in dire need of a shower. The night was mild, warm, but not hot at all. Perfect spring night for Texas. 

Jared swooped down on him, not to claim a kiss, but he buried his nose in Jensen's pits, sniffing, no, drinking in Jensen's odor. Jensen thought about protesting, about pushing Jared away, who was clearly delirious from too much work, but there was no separating yourself from an Alpha if he decided he was going to scent you.

"God, you smell incredible," Jared said when he surfaced. "I'd better get you home, otherwise, I'm going to do wicked things to you, right here in this parking lot."

"Why don't you?" 

"But I. Your parents. Your dad will skewer me with my own steel if I even."

"It's okay. I'll call them. I had a talk with them the other day about you and I have been courting over a year and we all decided it was okay for me to start spending the night with you whenever I wanted."

"And you want?"

"Yeah, I want."

 

So, one short phone call later, they'd gone over to Jared's apartment, near J2 in one of the many high rises in the neighborhood. They'd assembled a wonderful, simple meal together, not hardly cooking, really. There'd been silky smooth goat cheese, drizzled with honey and pomegranate arils along with chunks of crusty bread. Jared had also done a quick fridge pickle a few days ago of garlicky green beans. They'd rounded things out with a few slices of country ham, some cultured butter, and fresh figs.

Rather than pick up the dishes or clean up at all, Jared had just taken him by the hand and led him off to the living room sofa. He'd sat down, pulling Jensen after him so he straddled Jared's lap. 

Jensen shivered, both with worry and anticipation. Even over a year later, he was still several inches shorter than Jared, probably always would be. And he was slight, willowy compared to Jared's broad shoulders. An Omega would always be petite compared to an Alpha, but Jared was big even for an Alpha. And while they had never spent the night together, there'd been a few discreet make out sessions, hurriedly indulged in. It had been enough for Jensen to realize that Jared's cock was completely proportional to the rest of his huge body. But Jensen wanted. 

He wanted to devour this man like he'd dive into a plate of fresh figs and honey. He wanted Jared to savor him the same way.

"You're okay with this?" Jared asked. 

"Yeah, more than okay."

So Jared pulled Jensen's shirt off. He buried his nose into the crook of Jensen's neck, scenting and in turn, marking with gentle nips, just enough to bring up a smattering of purple bruises later. He thumbed Jensen's flat nipples, sparking a warmth deep in Jensen's core. 

"Oh, God, you're so gorgeous," he said. "So amazing. It was so hot, seeing you work tonight. Can't wait to make you mine. Can't wait to put a pup in that sweet little belly of yours."

At that, something twitched and clenched inside of Jensen. He suddenly ached to have Jared inside of him. Not that he was ready for pregnancy, but hearing Jared talk about it that way spoke to something inside him. And it wouldn't be hardly any worry at all. He wasn't in heat, wouldn't be for some time. 

It was like something or someone else possessed him, the way he latched on to Jared's neck and licked it. The man smelled incredible, like he always did, but so edible tonight. There was something umami about his scent, just a hint of it, like the odor of aged Parmigiano-Reggiano. Jared was solid, like a rock, and there was the simple musk of arousal coming off him in waves. Jensen ground his hips against Jared's, humping him, wanting so much more. He latched on to Jared's earlobe and couldn't stop himself from biting, gently, into the soft flesh. 

"Easy, Jen," Jared said. "Gonna give you what you want."

Jared stood up, while Jensen clung with his arms around Jared'd neck. He was so strong, like he didn't even feel Jensen's weight. Jensen peppered his face with kisses, even stuck his tongue into that little spot on the side of his lips where the dimples popped up when he smiled. Somewhere in there, clothes were shed, Jensen didn't know how, didn't need to know how. Jared took care of it, and like most things Jared took care of, it was done well, with little fuss. Then Jared pressed him against the wall. He hiked Jensen's legs up in his arms and pressed into Jensen. 

He thought his first time might hurt, people said it did, but it didn't. He was wet, his pussy sopping even, his cock hard and pulled up tight, out of the way. When Jared pushed in, it was just inevitable, like everything inside of him was being put into the right place for the first time ever. It was like he was making room for Jared, but also engulfing him, like swallowing something whole. Jared caught his eyes, looking for feedback. Probably wanted to know if Jensen was in any kind of pain, but when Jensen just nodded, he started thrusting, slow, but with persistence. He'd always thought their first time would be a fast boil, but it wasn't. It was a long, slow simmer. He thought for sure that Jared would have to put him down sometime, that he couldn't possibly keep fucking him against the wall. But he didn't. His shoulders could carry Jensen's weight for hours. 

That was what tipped Jensen over, thinking about just how long Jared could keep this up. He felt everything clench, then he was in that place where the mind stopped and sensation was everything. It was like when you ate something incredibly rich and sweet and for a moment, all you could even focus on was the information coming in from your body. But it wasn't like that either. It was like your body was just everything, the only thing. It was like it had a mind of its own and it shook and shuddered. He couldn't stop himself from crying out. When he could think again, Jared was still there, still holding him up, pounding in again and again. Now, it seemed different somehow. It was like there was some deep connection between them, down at Jared'd core muscles. The thrusting turned from inevitable and deliberate, to relentless, until a short while later, Jared groaned and buried his face in Jensen's hair. Jensen could feel the warm wetness drip out of him- Jared's come. 

They clung close, tightly to each other. Jared seemed weak for a moment and Jensen was afraid of being dropped. Then Jared's cock slid out and Jensen found himself being carried across the room, towards the one room in the apartment Jensen had never been in- the bedroom. 

"Bed time?" Jared asked.

"I don't know. I'm not really tired now. Maybe if there's more of this. If you want to do it again."

"Always. Again and again. Night after night," Jared promised. 

"Good," Jensen said. "Because you know, you're not half bad at that. You think you can keep that up?"

"Yes, Chef," Jared said.


End file.
